His Greatest Mistake
by BlueIrishEyes
Summary: On a cold January morning, Draco remembers back to all the mistakes he made in his life, including his greatest mistake her. Please read and review!


Disclaimer: Harry Potter and everyone and everything involved belongs (regretfully) only to J. K. Rowling. Everything written in italics (except for the last bit, that's my own) is word for word quoted from the books, and I have no claim to them. They are simply a tool to use in describing Malfoy's memories. This story is just my personal indulgence in the complex character that Draco Malfoy is.

His Greatest Mistake

Draco Malfoy was not perfect, and despite his façade, he knew it. He was explicitly aware of every error, every sin, and every shortcoming in his life. If his father wasn't there to painfully remind him of his disgraces, he was fully capable of reminding himself.

Today was no different. It was a typical day for January, cold and cloudy. A heavy storm had blown in the night before and left its mark on the castle grounds before it had drifted on. A thick layer of glistening snow lay innocently over the grayed winter grass. It seemed like everything was shimmering, as if hundreds of tiny fairies had danced across the lawn, leaving their fine dust behind.

But Draco knew the serene beauty was unreal. The purity of the new snow was only a extravagant mask hiding the deadness underneath. Only the lake told the truth. Without fail, it remained dark and murky. It was never beautiful, never obscured.

He was walking towards that unashamedly honest lake now. No one had come outside the warmth of the castle yet, and no one probably would for several hours. He had seen a few unfamiliar students in the still-cold corridors, a pair of Ravenclaw fifth years heading for the library and a lone Hufflepuff boy that looked decidedly lost, but other than those select, he hadn't seen anyone else. It was much too early for the majority of Hogwart's students to be active. But Draco had always found that the earliest hours of the morning were the best time for him to think. So here he was, out in the frost, at 7:17 am on a Saturday.

The sun hadn't yet climbed over the purple-hued, snow-covered peaks to the east, but it still wasn't quite dark. There was a distinct fogginess and a sort of pre-dawn glow that shrouded the land around the aged school. The tiniest particles of light seemed to catch on each miniature crystal of ice like a prism, spraying brilliant colors in every direction. The silence was so complete it almost sounded like a humming that permeated the air, a constant companion that filled all open space. No birds called, no forest creatures rustled, and no people were about.

It was so peaceful and fresh that Draco almost felt guilty for disturbing the tranquility with his presence. His deep footprints tore at the light snow, marring its superficial perfection and leaving an ugly scar across the ground behind him.

Slowly he broke his way to the lake, coming to a stop at the water's edge. The frigid water licked onto the rocks in a threatening beckon. It seemed to draw the life out of everything near it, so nothing seemed to grow close to its murky shores. Even the dead snow couldn't survive its harsh touch.

Draco's breath made odd patterns in the thin air as he breathed, visibly displaying the frigidness of the morning. He rubbed his gloved hands together for warmth to no avail, and instead buried them deep in the pockets of his mink-lined cloak. His head was uncovered, allowing his pale hair to fall down beside his pinked, stinging ears. He was starting to seriously regret leaving his woolen cap behind on the post of his bed.

Draco gazed absentmindedly at his stark surroundings. A lone weeping willow stood pitifully across the lake. Its sad branches drooped lifelessly, falling in limp strands. Patches of dark earth around its peeling trunk stood out against the whiteness. At this time of winter, no vivacious leaves bejeweled the delicate threads. Forlornly, it bent towards the ground hopelessly.

The desolate tree reminded Draco of himself, in a way. He was a solitary person, preferring to be alone than with others. Even his own notoriously withdrawn housemates were too loud, so he took the early hours as his personal time. He was independent and arrogant and he took pride in relying on no one for help. He despised being under someone else's control or having to answer to the demands of others. He also had no need for actual companionship, although he felt the depth of his loneliness in his very soul. The young Slytherin longed for someone who would silently understand him, but he knew he would survive without that closeness, no matter how he ached.

This serene time of day, when the rest of the world was still blissfully asleep, was his time to look back on his many mistakes. One with a past like his would probably lay in a deep depression of self-pity, but he didn't. He was stronger than that. He would never pity anyone or anything, even his own callous heart. Instead he felt a relentless anger deep inside himself. It was distant, as if in the farthest reaches of his mind, but it was there none the less, an ever-present, festering essence.

A significant portion of that resentment was understandably directed at his controlling coward of a father, but it was a surprisingly small part. Most of it was aimed at himself. It was like he was on outside onlooker sifting through past memories of someone else's life. He felt a detached sort of regret or frustration for the unwise choices that had led him to where he was now. And there were so many. Some were minor and had relatively small consequences, but others had impacted him to the core, changing his life for the worse.

He wasn't sure how the chain started. It might have been the moments he rationalized truth into his father's many lies, or the day he stepped onto the train to Hogwarts for the first time, or maybe it was the instant he originally came into this bleak world, silent and unusual. But whatever the catalyst was, it had pushed him so far down a dark road of mistakes that he could no longer turn around and run desperately back.

Single instances in his life stood out among more obscured, forgotten ones. Most were from days at school or times with his father. They seemed to streak by in his mind, fleeting and ungraspable like a continuously spinning kaleidoscope. Occasionally, one would pause just long enough for him to remember.

_- Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"_

"_You know your mother, Malfoy?" said Harry – both he and Hermione had grabbed the back of Ron's robes to stop him from launching himself at Malfoy – "that expression she's got, like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because you were with her?" Malfoy's face went slightly pink._

"_Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter."_

_- Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had taken over Buckbeak. He had bowed to Malfoy, who was now patting his beak, looking disdainful. _

"_This is very easy," Malfoy drawled, loud enough for Harry to hear him. "I knew it must have been, if Potter could do it…I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you?" he said to the hippogriff. "Are you, you great ugly brute?"_

- "_You fainted, Potter? Is Longbottom telling the truth? You actually fainted?" Malfoy elbowed past Hermione to block Harry's way up the stone steps to the castle, his face gleeful and his pale eyes glinting maliciously._

"_Shove off, Malfoy," said Ron, whose jaw was clenched._

"_Did you faint as well, Weasley?" said Malfoy loudly. "Did the scary old dementor frighten you too, Weasley?"_

- "_You'll soon find out that some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there." He held out his hand to shake Harry's, but Harry didn't take it. _

"_I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he said coolly._

_Draco Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks. "I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he said slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."_

- "_Father says to keep my head down and let the Heir of Syltherin get on with it. He says the school needs ridding of all the Mudblood filth, but not to get mixed up in it. Of course, he's got a lot on his plate at the moment. You know the Ministry of Magic raided our manor last week?"_

_Harry tried to force Goyle's dull face into a look of concern. "Yeah," said Malfoy. "Luckily, they didn't find much. Father's got some very valuable Dark Arts stuff. But luckily, we've got our own secret chamber under the drawing room floor –"_

_- Lying in a crumpled heap on the ground were Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Marcus Flint, the Slytherin team Captain, all struggling to remove themselves from long, black, hooded robes. It looked as though Malfoy had been standing on Goyle's shoulders. Standing over them, with an expression of utmost fury on her face, was Professor McGonagall._

"_An unworthy trick!" she was shouting. "A low and cowardly attempt to sabotage the Gryffindor Seeker! Detention for all of you, and fifty points from Slytherin! I shall be speaking to Professor Dumbledore about this, make no mistake!"_

_- Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him._

_"Good, aren't they?" said Malfoy smoothly. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them." The Slytherin team howled with laughter._

_"At least no one of the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," said Hermione sharply. "They got in on pure talent."_

_The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered. "No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat._

- "_We were just discussing your friend Hagrid," Malfoy said to Ron. "Just trying to imagine what he's saying to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. D'you think he'll cry when they cut off his hippogriff's -"_

_SPLAT._

_Malfoy's head jerked forward as the mud hit him; his silver-blond hair was suddenly dripping with muck. "What the -?"_

_- "I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin," said Mr. Malfoy coldly. "Though if his grades don't pick up," said Mr. Malfoy, more coldly still, "that may indeed be all he is fit for –"_

_"It's not my fault," retorted Draco. "The teachers all have favorites, that Hermione Granger –"_

_"I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam," snapped Mr. Malfoy._

- "_You know, I'm surprised the Daily Prophet hasn't reported all these attacks yet," he went on thoughtfully. "I suppose Dumbledore's trying to hush it all up. Dumbledore's the worst thing that's ever happened to this place. He loves Muggle-borns. A decent headmaster would never've let slime like that Creevey in."_

_Malfoy started taking pictures with an imaginary camera and did a cruel but accurate impression of Colin: "Potter, can I have your picture, Potter? Can I have your autograph? Can I lick your shoes, please, Potter?" He dropped his hands and looked at Harry and Ron. "What's the matter with you two?"_

_- "Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" said a voice Harry had no trouble recognizing. He straightened up and found himself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, who was wearing his usual sneer. "Famous Harry Potter," said Malfoy. "Can't even go into a bookstore without making the front page."_

_"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!" said Ginny. It was the first time she had spoken in front of Harry. She was glaring at Malfoy._

_"Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend!" drawled Malfoy._

_- Professor McGonagall, in a tartan bathrobe and a hair net, had Malfoy by the ear. "Detention!" she shouted. "And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you –"_

_"You don't understand, Professor. Harry Potter's coming – he's got a dragon!"_

_"What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on – I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!"_

As he reminisced of the many events from his school years, he felt himself transported to the times they happened. He remembered feeling pleased and smug at his sorting. He vividly remembered Moody's transfigured punishment after he attacked Harry for insulting his mother. He remembered the minor surface wound from Buckbeak's attack and he smiled as he remembered how much he was waited on. He remembered the disappointment and shame when his father had criticized his schoolwork. He remembered his shock at seeing Potter's head floating around by the Shrieking Shack. He remembered when he had gotten into trouble for pretending to be a dementor and once when he had been looking for Potter's dragon. And he remembered every moment very clearly, as if he had jumped into a Pensieve full of his own thoughts.

He marveled at the joy he had felt, at the pride in his accomplishments, and at the wonder of seeing things for the first time. But then came the tormented thoughts, fast and ruthless. They swept across his mind like a tidal wave and he was powerless to stop them. It felt as if he was being ripped apart from the inside out by sharp claws from shapeless monsters. Anger, guilt, bitterness, regret, grief, envy, hatred. They all tore at his soul, reminding him of every despairing call his heart had ever murmured.

And then all at once it stopped. His mind was clear and still once more like he had never had the draining rush of memories. Then slowly, one more came into his mind. It came gently, gliding into his view like a swan lands on a smooth lake. It was foggy at first, but then became clearer. The whole picture was darkened, as if it was taken by a camera with a thin black cloth over the lens. It gave the image a mysterious, almost sinister look. As the scene began to play, Draco recognized it, his eyes wide and apprehensive. He didn't want to see this memory. It stood for everything he had given up, everything he had pushed away with his discrimination, everything he could have had but didn't. At the time, it was an insignificant and meaningless instant, but now Draco realized its magnitude. After this, his greatest mistake, he never had chance with her and everything she stood for.

_Draco changed quickly into his school robes in a compartment close to the end of the Hogwarts Express. As he waited for Crabbe and Goyle to change as well, he leaned back against the doorway of the little room._

"_Can you believe the nerve of that Potter boy?" he asked his friends. They stared at him, nodding slightly. Goyle had his knuckle in his mouth, sucking where Weasley's mangy rat had bitten him._

_Draco sighed. What idiots. "You're supposed to shake your heads the other ways, you morons," he corrected exasperatedly. He continued on none the less, "I guess I doesn't really matter who he associates with, his fame's gone to his head anyway. I certainly wouldn't want to spend time with him." _

_Just as he trailed off, a girl in brand new, crisply pressed robes appeared in the doorway where he was lazily sprawled. Her voluminous brown hair was plain and bushy. Her front teeth were slightly too big and her brown eyes were very normal. She had an air of bossy intelligence surrounding her, which was only added to by the presence of a textbook under her right arm._

_She looked at him steadily, as if judging his character just by his appearance. Seemingly satisfied, she opened her small pink lips and asked, "Have you seen a toad? There's a boy that's still looking for one and we're almost to the station." Her voice was surprisingly mature and measured, showing the careful thought process that most likely went into every comment she made._

_Draco stared back at her, one blond brow raised in curiosity. "I haven't, sorry." He turned to Crabbe and Goyle and airily demanded, "What about you, boys? Seen a toad anywhere?"_

_They shook their heads compliantly but said nothing. The young Draco turned back to the peculiar girl. "Sorry we couldn't help you."_

_She smiled slightly. She was cute when she smiled, Draco decided. That must be what a baby bunny would look like if it could smile._

"_That's alright, we'll find it somewhere else," she replied shyly._

_He smirked back. Holding out his hand, he added, "By the way, I'm Draco Malfoy."_

_Her smile seemed to falter, slipping from her child-like face a fraction. "I'm Hermione Granger," she said politely, but she didn't shake his hand._

_Draco frowned a little and dropped his extended offering. "So where are you from, Hermione?"_

_Nervously she shifted her slight weight to a tiny foot. Twisting a frizzy curl around one finger, she returned, "Muggle London." She looked at him intensely, as if gauging what his reaction would be. Her eyes were warm with curiosity and uncertainty._

_Goyle made an odd sound in the back of his throat that might have been a laugh. Draco turned to him with a look that clearly stated, "Shut up, idiot." Then he turned back to Hermione. His smirk had transformed into a cruel, mocking leer._

"_So you're a muggleborn then?" It was said nonchalantly, like he didn't care about the answer, even though he found it astonishingly important to him._

_She nodded and her curls bounced every which way around her face. "Yes. Is that bad?" She was so ignorant that it was almost forgivable._

_He chuckled slightly. "That's very bad. It's people like you that contaminate the wizarding world," he paused slightly to add weight to his words. "Now if you'd pardon me, I'd like to keep this compartment untainted, so you should leave." His tone was biting and harsh in a way Hermione had never had directed at her before._

_With a last laugh, Draco slid the doors closed to leave her standing, shocked, in the hall. His last glimpse of her was of distress flickering across her innocent face before she quickly turned away, silent tears falling down her cheeks._

Finally, the memory faded away, jerking Draco out of the trance he had been in. He breathed deeply, gasping for the chill air. He had the unsettling feeling that he had been underwater too long; his head was light and dizzy. He felt like he had been standing at the lake's edge for hours, silently remembering, except the sun had risen only slightly higher over the distant mountains. It just barely peeked over the tops, its bright rays shyly reaching out to greet the new morning.

Draco sighed deeply. How he wished that it didn't matter what he had been taught to believe. How he wished he hadn't been the naïve, impressionable boy he was a few years ago. And how he wished he had given her a better first impression, or even a better overall impression of his whole self. Regret coursed through his veins like fire, heating his blood, making him acutely aware of his mistake.

Hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, he turned back towards the castle. Wading through the deep snow, he slowly made his way up the steps and through the large double doors. Gray light was peeping through glass window panes in the corridors as he aimlessly wandered the halls.

Not watching, or caring, where he was going, he collided with a small figure. Instinctively, he reached out to steady the person.

Looking down, Draco found himself staring into very normal brown eyes. Only they weren't that normal because they were _her_ eyes.

She looked at him, a little bewildered, and raised her dark eyebrows. "Thanks," she murmured hesitantly.

Hermione was the very embodiment of goodness. She was purity and righteousness in its rawest form to him. Here she was, 8 o'clock on a Saturday morning, dutifully heading to the library with multiple texts in her arms.

He still had his pale hands on the sides of her delicate arms, balancing her. Slowly, regretfully, he released his gentle grasp. "You're welcome," he replied quietly after a moment's pause.

His grey eyes met her brown ones and a thread of understanding crossed between them. But then he sighed and looked down. Turning away, he walked away from the woman who, in his eyes, was perfect. He knew he could never do anything to change her mind about him, not know, so he lived his live without her.

He didn't look back, so he didn't notice that Hermione didn't move. She didn't walk into the library like she had planned. Instead she turned to face Draco's retreating back.

He didn't hear her part her small pink lips and sigh softly.

And he didn't see the intense, foreign sadness and regret pool in her own dark eyes.

Sometimes, he would watch her from afar, admiring her cleverness and bravery, her loyalty and honesty. He knew nothing would ever come of his feelings, and he accepted that. He was alright with just observing the way she brushed her quill against her chin when she thought, or the way her eyes creased when she laughed, or her business-like tone when she answered a question. He was alright with that prick in his heart every time he saw her with Potter and Weasley. And he was alright with the fact that she was everything he wanted and everything he would never have.

He wasn't much of an emotional person anyway. The spot in his heart that he had given to her was so uneducated in matters of feeling that he didn't know how to react anyway. But not matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remove it altogether. So he chose to bury it, push it deep into his being where he could feel its calming presence but not its remorseful loss. His adoration of Hermione was a part of him, just as his anger at his father was a part of him. But Draco was strong. He would continue to live just as the sun would continue to rise every morning to a cruel, cold world.

Through all his years, he would never forget her. He couldn't if he tried, because she was his greatest mistake.

A/N: I realize the book quotes are all from Harry's point of view, but humor me and believe they are Draco's memories. Also I apologize that they are all from the first few books. The last ones are just too long and it was really tedious combing them for parts with Draco.

I'm sorry about the end, it got a little more fluffy than I intended, but it was late and I had been working for a long time.

Please review! I don't care if it's one sentence or one word, just let me know what you think. I hope you enjoyed it.


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